Clinic Blues
by Mulceber
Summary: House deals with his feelings after Need to Know
1. Introduction

Clinic Blues

Introduction

"Checking into clinic. 12:00." The scruffy doctor quipped to the secretary. "Be sure to tell Ms. Cuddy I'll expect extra credit for signing in 10 minutes early today."

The secretary nodded vaguely. She was new on the job, but the first word of advice she had received on her first day at Princeton at Plainsboro was to avoid engaging the doctor with the cane. Unless she wanted to be treated to an onslaught of blunt analyses and sarcastic remarks, that is.

The misleadingly chipper doctor took no notice of her refusal to respond, and instead turned, and hobbled over to the door of exam room 1. After a brief struggle with a faulty doorknob, he entered, somehow managing to strut while using a cane.

Ms. Owens, the secretary, breathed a sigh of relief. She had heard about what an ass Dr. House was and hoped she wouldn't see much of him. Already, he was a legend around here.

* * *

"I don't know what's wrong with her. She was fine yesterday. I think it might be the avian flu. I mean, she had chicken last night, and it might have…" 

As the woman continued to speak, the corners of House's mouth, already twisted into a scowl, began to sink even lower as the monotony of the situation heightened. "Your child has a runny nose," he said firmly. "Go to the pharmacy and pick up two things: a bottle of Motrin for her, and a chill pill for yourself. Next!"

* * *

"I just don't know what's wrong," the teenager mumbled blearily. "No matter what I eat, I'm hungry, and its making me feel really up tight." 

"Your shoes are untied," Gregory House stated, matter-of-factly. "Which indicates a loss of muscle coordination. That, added to the burnt smell that seems to follow you around like a lovesick dog and your bloodshot eyes virtually screams one question:" he paused. "How much pot have you been smoking?"

"Couple blunts a day."

"THC causes all of the symptoms you've described," Greg concluded. "Drop the dope, and you'll be perfectly normal…whatever normal is for you."

The youth nodded and lurched out the door as House casually popped a pair of Vicodin tablets into his mouth.

* * *

The doctor didn't even wait for the next patient to sit down. "'General Hospital' starts in 41/2 minutes, so that means 3 minutes for you to tell me what's wrong, 1 minute for me to diagnose your cold or fever and 30 seconds of boring chit chat before you have to leave. Start…now!" 

The patient was old. Not terribly old, right around her mid-forties. She was slender, and though not as attractive as she once must have been, she was still quite pretty. "I have a lump," she said firmly.

"In your tummy?" House responded playfully. "Because if so, then I believe the technical term for that is 'baby'."

"No," the woman said, clearly and justifiably irate at this physician's levity. "In my right breast!"

House stood up and slowly hobbled over to the exam room table where the woman was sitting. Lifting her shirt he gingerly felt his way around the outline of the mass.

"Why are you such a jerk?" she asked suddenly.

"Shh…"

"I…"

"I'm concentrating!" Greg hissed emphatically. "Do you want me to examine you or not?"

The patient gave a look that clearly indicated that she would prefer not, but said nothing.

A moment later House put down her shirt. "The bad news is," House said soberly, "It looks like you may have a tumor. The good news is you caught it early. Your chances of survival are strong." Walking over to the counter, he took out a small pad of paper and began writing. "I'm going to arrange for a biopsy of the mass. Tomorrow at noon."

As the woman walked nervously out the door, House's eyes wandered up to the clock. He'd missed the start of 'General Hospital' by five minutes.

* * *

The apartment was dark when Dr. House returned home. He limped up the stoop, entered the door and flicked the light switch on with amazing speed for a crippled person. Quiet as a tomb. Sinking into a Chaise, he picked up his dog-eared, open copy of Commentarii de Bello Gallico. Greg's mind refused to settle into Caesar's exploits, however, and he instead found himself gazing aimlessly across the room. His eyes finally settled on the small collection of cards resting on his piano, the fruits of the birthday he'd had yesterday. Feeling reminiscent, House, with effort, stood up and slowly limped over to his prized Baldwin and sat down at the bench, examining each card in turn. 

Of course Cameron had sent one; a nice, sweet hallmark card with a birthday puppy on the front and kind wishes on the inside. It was touching in its own, naïve, quaint way. So like her.

Wilson, who rarely sent cards, had for some reason decided to break with normality this year. He'd sent a pithy card wishing Greg a happy forty-first and inviting him to stop by for a late night game of poker sometime.

Even Cuddy had sent him a card, thanking him for all the work he had done. However, this attempt at warmth had not prevented her from adding in a side note that House still owed her twenty-five clinic hours. The aging doctor smiled in spite of himself.

Most surprising of all, though, was the fact that he'd actually received a birthday card from Stacy. House smiled ruefully as he studied the loopy, yet firm and consistent hand writing in the personal note she had written. As he gazed at the script, a fervent, futile hope that she still loved him awoke within his heart. This dream captured his imagination and raised his spirits momentarily, but then floated away into the night as he remembered Mark.

Still staring at Stacy's card, House slowly and mournfully returned it to its place among the others. He lowered his hands to the keyboard, dancing them across the broad white row of keys, and began to spell out the sorrowful tune of "As Time Goes By."


	2. Chapter 1

ok, here's officially the first chapter, since the last was an intro. I think I did a good job with Cam/Chase/Foreman well, but I'm not sure Wilson's lines were completely in character. Tell me what you all think.

Chapter 1

Boredom

"Late again," Chase said casually as he tossed House's ball up in the air.

"I wonder what's wrong with him," Cameron queried. "He's been late every day this week."

"He's House," Foreman interjected in a condescending tone of voice. "There haven't been a dozen days this year when he wasn't late."

"I know, but hasn't he been acting strange lately?" Cameron argued. "I mean, he has me answering his mail…"

"…and me reorganizing his filing cabinet," Chase cut in, as he continued playing catch.

"Exactly," Allyson finished. "House doesn't do these types of things to us unless something's wrong."

The look on Foreman's face betrayed his disagreement over this point, but he said nothing. And so the room went quiet, with only the intermittent sound of House's ball softly landing in Dr. Chase's hands to break the silence.

It was true, Foreman reflected, they had not had much work to do in the past week. Ever since Stacy Warner had quit nine days ago, House had been unwilling to give them anything but busy work. He had refused to look at any of the dozen or so cases that were offered to him, which in Foreman's opinion should have provoked threats of pay docking from Cuddy. Strangely though, no amount of listlessness or disrespect out of House was enough to illicit an aggressive response out of her these days. All because of the whole ordeal with Stacy, people were now giving preferential treatment to House, as though the crotchety old jerk were in some way vulnerable. He shook his head slowly. When were people going to stop giving House a free ride?

* * *

"Do you enjoy driving us all insane?" Dr. Wilson asked challengingly. "This is the fifth day in a row that you've been a half hour or more late."

"What, did Cuddy make you my watch dog?" House jabbed. His tone was different, more bitter, and with none of the mockery that his voice was usually rife with.

Wilson ignored him and pressed on. "How about we play a game; you keep arriving late, and we'll see how many days it takes for Cuddy to fire you."

House just rolled his eyes and stepped into the waiting elevator.

Puzzled by this response, Wilson stepped in after him. "It's Stacy, isn't it?"

"Stacy Lee? No couldn't be. Haven't met her. But I hear her turn-on's include guys with canes who have annoying best friends. You know, you're right, maybe I should send her a fan lett…"

"You know who I mean," Wilson cut him off. "Ever since she left, you've been showing up late, refusing to take cases and avoiding talking with your friends." His confidence rose audibly as he realized he was on to something. "You've driven the love of your life out of your life for the second time, and now you can't live with yourself. So instead of talking about it like a normal human being, you've decided to run away from life, and since your job is your life, you've run away from that."

The elevator opened, and House stepped out. Determined to get in the last word, he turned to Wilson. "Stop playing psychologist. You suck at it. I don't need help, the only thing I need are my meds."

Wilson held the elevator door open, hoping to prolong the conversation. "You need to start doing your job before you get fired," he said simply. Then an uncharacteristically nasty smile crossed his face. "Find a case to work on, or I'll tell Cameron all about your secret sensitive side that can't bear to be without your true love, and I'll sit back and watch as she tries to comfort you."

All Wilson could see before the elevator door closed was the resentful sneer that played on House's face.

Feeling suddenly energized by Wilson's threat, House picked up his lop-sided pace. As he quickly hobbled into his office, Cameron, Chase and Foreman all turned in their chairs to face him, evidently bored to the point where his fifth consecutive late arrival was a matter of interest.

* * *

"Where have you been, we were beginning to get worried," Cameron said, obviously ignoring Foreman's snort of dissent. The sound of metal sliding along the table drew his attention to her left hand, which was playing host to a diamond ring. Judging by the way she was prominently displaying her hand on the table, the ring was clearly new.

"Slept late," responded House matter-of-factly as he limped over to the table carrying a stack of file folders.

"Wait…wouldn't your leg wake you up when your Vicodin wore off…" questioned Chase in a misleadingly confused tone of voice.

"Shut up, lover boy." House shot back as he began browsing through the files.

Now it was Foreman's turn to be confused, as he raised his eyebrow while he glanced first from House to Chase, then from Chase to Cameron.

"Come on, people, there's a cripple here in need of help!" House said impatiently, as he continued flipping through folders.

"What happened to the House who was trying to turn his three over-qualified doctors into personal secretaries?" Foreman asked skeptically.

"He got bored and decided it was fun to watch you yap while he tried to find you something to do," House said sarcastically. "Dig in. You are to find the most interesting case in this whole pile of melanoma patients and paraplegics."

"How about this one," Cameron asked. "thirty year old burn victim, whose skin is having trouble regenerating."

"Too boring."

"Stage three pancreatic cancer patient…" Chase started.

"Too depressing…send it to Wilson."

Foreman, who had just started searching read for a moment and then showed House one of the many files lying on the table.

As he looked at it, House's eyes grew a little more intense. "Not bad…"


	3. Chapter 2

Ok, here's chapter 2 in my House fanfic. I couldn't get the "add ruler" button to work, so I had to improvise by using a repeating line of "M's" to show that it was skipping ahead, sorry if its a bit distracting. And also, sorry in advance to all the people out there who dont' think Chase and Cam should be together. I have a friend who would probably mame me if I didn't have it that way. In fact, I gave that friend a cameo role in this chapter. But yeah, I'll shut up now and let you read this. Hope you like it.

Chapter 2

One-Hundred Percent Juice

"He was lying on the couch at home when the symptoms started." Chelsea began. "He'd been staying home for the past week because he had mono, and all of a sudden he just rolled over and puked on the carpet."

"Did he eat anything unusual lately?" Foreman asked. "Maybe his food wasn't what he was familiar with, or perhaps it was spoiled…"

"No," Chelsea responded helplessly. "Nothing like that. He insists on eating high-protein food because he's on the wrestling team at school and needs to put on muscle, so that's what I give him."

"What about migraines?" Foreman pressed on. "Has he complained of headaches lately?"

"No," the boy chipped in. "My head's the only part of me that hasn't felt like shit lately."

Turning to the boy, Foreman began directing his questions at him now. "Any medications you've been taking? Some over the counter drugs can unexpectedly induce vomiting."

Rubbing his throat gingerly, Jason cautiously shook his head, trying not to exacerbate the pain in his neck.

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

"Differential diagnosis, people," House blared obnoxiously to the team. "seventeen year old male displays symptoms of nausea and vomiting while home sick with mono. Who shares my feeling that Mom's chicken soup was really, REALLY, not what he needed?"

"You think he has food poisoning?" Cameron asked tentatively.

"Why not? It would get him out of our hair really quick." House shot back.

"Any spoiled food would have left his system by now and his mother said he didn't eat anything out of the ordinary." Foreman cut in. "His diet won't permit it."

Half-way to the refreshment table, House stopped and shot a look at Foreman. "What diet?"

Cameron opened up a file folder and turned several pages before interjecting. "His personal file says he's on the wrestling team at school."

A malicious smile crossed House's face. "Fifty bucks says poor little Jason's coach has been sticking needles in his butt."

"Steroid use is pretty uncommon in a teen…" Foreman began to caution.

"Why not? Don't you remember the old ad? 100 juice for 100 kids?" House jibed.

Chase grinned light-heartedly at this remark, while Cameron looked unconvinced but didn't object. "I'll go get a urine sample."

"Right," House said. "Page me when he comes back positive." With that, the cantankerous doctor hobbled out of the office and moved towards the elevator. After a long while the door opened and House was vaguely satisfied to see that the elevator was empty.

Pressing the button marked "lobby," House and the elevator descended. Not surprisingly, their journey was interrupted as nurses, patients and doctors boarded on the third floor.

"Good afternoon, Dr. House," Cuddy said as she stepped in with the crowd. Her voice was warm, yet beneath it the diagnostician could sense an edge of sarcasm. "Have you taken the case Dr. Wilson offered you yet?"

"Yes," House began. "And how would you know?" He added somewhat incredulously.

She smiled coolly at him. "What makes you think I am not aware of everything that goes on in this hospital?"

"You still don't know who put the rancid cafeteria food in your desk drawer." House said sharply.

"Actually, that was Dr. Chase acting on your orders, I believe." She responded confidently.

House scowled at this and chose to respond by walking out the elevator door, which had just now opened into the lobby. He moved swiftly for a man with a cane, and in her high heels, Cuddy was only able to catch up to him when he stopped to sign in at the clinic. More serious now, she again approached House.

"What's your diagnosis for the patient, House?"

"Steroid use." House said as he filled in his check-in time. "Give him rest and the kid'll be back to shoving needles in his ass in no time." As he finished the sheet he turned to Cuddy. "As much as I'd like to continue this bit of meaningless chit-chat, I've got a clinic full of patients dying of the cold to save."

"More sarcasm." Cuddy sighed.

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

House groaned as he entered the door. Another kid. Two kids in fact. One was a young girl, probably about five years old. The other, who was clearly her older sister, looked to be about sixteen. Glancing for a moment at the file, House noted that the girl had had chicken pox, mumps, and all of her shots as well. "Good afternoon…Britney." He said, trying to recall what the file had said her name was.

"Excuse me," the older one interrupted. "Her name's Brianna, FYI."

House rolled his eyes. "Whatever." He stepped towards the younger one. "So what seems to be the problem…Brianna." He glanced at the older one as if to resentfully check that he'd gotten the name right. Her only reaction was to role her eyes.

"Chicken pox." Brianna said quietly. "On my back."

Brianna's older sister looked down at her. "No, Brianna, you already had chicken pox," she said gently.

This girl was good with children, House reflected. He almost regretted his cynicism considering how kind she clearly could be. "Well, I guess she must have gotten it again," the diagnostician said in an upbeat tone. "A nice little recurrence."

"What?" the sister said incredulously. "You don't get a 'recurrence' of chicken pox!" Her face was comical, as though she were making every effort to display how ridiculous she thought his comment was.

"Yes you can." House stated simply.

"My Mom's a nurse, okay?" she said matter-of-factly. "Chicken pox doesn't come twice!"

"Five bucks says it can."

"You're gambling with a teenager?" she sounded more and more amazed each minute.

"You think that's wrong?" House asked sarcastically. "Look, either put up or shut up."

"Excuse me?" She was almost shouting now. "You know what? Whatever. You're on!"

House limped over to the cabinet and pulled out a book of common ailments. Flipping through it, he finally held it out to her. "It's rare, but…Shingles."

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

"Never gamble with a doctor." House said in a satisfied voice as he strolled out of the clinic, his newly-won five dollar bill in hand. Now where the hell was Cameron? Limping along, House rushed towards the elevator, and just barely made it before the door slid shut. Having rationalized that she was probably waiting in his office, House pressed the button marked "four" on the elevator wall. Several people boarded on the second floor, but nobody he knew. As the door opened on the fourth floor, the diagnostician limped as quickly as possibly towards the glass confines of his office. Strangely, the shades were drawn.

Puzzled by this change in décor, House paused briefly and checked the name on the door to see that he wasn't lost. He wasn't. The door read "Gregory House, M.D." just like it always had.

Reassured, House confidently stepped through the door, only to find that they lights were out. As he glanced over to the corner where the light switch was, he noticed two figures embracing in the corner: Cameron and Chase.

"Ohhh…" House groaned. "Do you have to do that here? Now? In my office?" If the two took any notice of him, they didn't show it, and all the old doctor could do was make a throaty call of "Perverts!" as he stalked off to the lounge; a call that left everyone in sight staring in a perplexed fashion at the closed shades of House's office.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Painful Reminders

"Dr. House, here you are," Cameron said as she closed the door to the lounge behind her. She looked a bit pale and nervous as she moved to the chair next House and sat down. "Dr. Chase and I were just…were just…"

"I know what you were doing." House said nastily.

"I checked the patient's urine," Cameron started. She had no desire to discuss her personal life with House. "And he…"

"So is it his hair you like?" House provoked her.

"Cameron tried to evade the question. "The patient…"

"Or is it his eyes?" House interrupted. "He does have gorgeous eyes. I guess if I were a young woman with a thing for sick people I'd…"

Cameron grew red with embarrassment and anger at this remark. "I just wanted to tell you…"

"You know, I was thinking about it, and if you like dying people enough to MARRY one, you should talk to Wilson. He likes banging patients too!" House now stared bitterly at her.

"I came in here to tell you that the patient tested positive for steroids." Cameron paused for a moment as her mind switched gears, then continued on, her voice livid. "You drove Stacy out of your life so you could be miserable again, I get it! But you don't have the right to try and ruin other people's happiness now that they've finally found it!" With an intense energy she abruptly stood up, turned and walked out the door, slamming it behind her.

Now sitting alone in the lounge, House stared at the door as though he expected her to come back and yell some more. She didn't, of course. Nor had he actually expected her to. Sighing remorsefully, he finally stood up and hobbled out the door. There was a lot to mull over on his way home.

* * *

The doors slid open as the elevator slowed to a halt. The lobby was quiet, with only a few patients milling around, as well as the regular staff of nurses at the entrance desk. The last light of dusk filtered through the windows and gave the entire room a strange, yet not unpleasant glow.

Stepping out of the elevator, House limped across the room to the exit. Not a single person lifted a finger to help the crippled doctor. They knew him all too well. Even the patients seemed to sense that they were to leave him alone.

The diagnostician paused before passing through the exit. Gazing around, all eyes seemed to be on him, though none actually were. Turning to face the sun, he walked out of the lobby to his motorcycle. Unlike the deserted lobby, the parking lot was unusually full, and it took Greg some zig-zagging between cars before he finally found the cycle he'd borrowed $5000.00 to buy. Glancing up from this prized possession, he saw Cameron unlocking her car several parking spaces over. Momentarily staring, House briefly caught her gaze, an accomplishment that was rewarded only with an icy glare as she climbed into her Pontiac.

Reflecting morosely on the meaning of this, House climbed onto his motorcycle and began the short trip home.

* * *

"Well, I guess we're back to doing House's paperwork." Chase sighed the next morning.

"Who would think that being the personal secretaries of an anti-social jerk would be so much work?" Foreman exclaimed as he slid another pile of file folders out of his way. "Where is he anyway?"

"Don't know," Chase said off-handedly. "He just called in this morning and told me to get us working on the files. A shame that kid's case wasn't more complicated."

"Yeah, maybe we'd actually get to do what we went to medical school for!" A vein of frustration was clearly audible in Foreman's voice. Discouraged, he sighed and looked around, noticing that Cameron was working on a separate pile of files in the other room, where they usually participated in House's famous differential diagnoses. "Have you noticed anything strange about how Cameron's been acting lately?"

Looking for all the world like a deer caught in the headlights, Chase hesitated. "Uh…I…don't know…" he said unconvincingly as he avoided Foreman's gaze. "Why would I?"

Foreman gave Chase a suspicious look, but said nothing. Instead, he turned back to the files in front of him and began working again. Hearing the low creak of the door opening, he glanced up to see House step through the door. Using his cane, the old doctor rapped on the glass barrier that separated his office from the common area where Cameron sat by herself. So involved in her work was she, that she jumped at the noise, and turned wildly to the source of the sound, only to see House casually motioning for her to join them. A small scowl crossed her face, but she nevertheless put down her pen and walked in to join them.

"Our patient, 'prunes-for-balls' has been re-admitted." House paused dramatically. "He had a psychotic break."

Foreman spoke up immediately. "Psychosis is indicative of steroid use. We already determined that he's been using steroids. Why are you putting this case back on our plates?" Foreman expected House to have a particularly nasty come-back reserved for his question, but if he did, he didn't make use of it.

"Joseph was…"

"Jason." Cameron corrected him coldly.

Instead of rolling his eyes, or telling them how much he didn't care what the boy's name was, House just pressed on. "Jason," he said with emphasis, "had been here three days before we got to him. Add to that the time we spent diagnosing him and his overly-protective mother who no doubt has been checking on him every five minutes since he got home, and you've got five days during which he hasn't been juicing at all. His symptoms should be getting better, not worse. Something else is wrong."

They all stood in silence, none of them disagreeing with his assessment. Finally, House leaned forward as though he were about to share a secret and whispered "What are we not talking about?" Looking smug because of his own witticism, he turned to Foreman. "Go talk to Wilson, have him check for cancer. Chase, go get a medical history. See if his family has a history of mental illness."

The two nodded and left the room. Cameron started to follow them, but House called her back. His smugness was gone now, replaced by sobering somberness. "I'm sorry." He said quietly. "I was out of line." Her gaze seemed to soften ever so slightly.

"You can be a real ass sometimes." She stated frankly.

"Kindof brightens the day, doesn't it?" House said with a furtive smile.

For some reason, between his apology and his remark, her anger melted away, and in spite of herself, she smiled softly back. "A little."

A touch of playful mockery entered his voice as he spoke again. "Next time though, could you make out in Cuddy's office instead?"


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter IV

Remember, Remember

"You caught them what?" Wilson asked obliviously.

"Snogging," House said impatiently. A quick glance to the cancer specialist told him that Wilson still didn't know what he meant. "Don't you watch 'Blackadder?' That comedian…what's his name uses the word all the time."

"You don't talk like a British comedian around your staff, do you?" Wilson asked. "It'll rub off on them."

"Too late," House said nastily. "Chase already sounds like somebody out of a Charles Dickens novel."

"So why do you want me to test your patient?" Wilson changed the subject. "Vomiting and psychosis aren't your usual symptoms of cancer."

"The vomiting was caused by the steroids. Psychosis was caused by something else." House spoke like he was still lecturing his team, a fact Wilson ignored.

"So you automatically thought cancer?" Wilson asked in a cautiously skeptical voice.

"I didn't automatically think anything." House replied emphatically. "I've got Chase taking a family history, see if this kid's naturally whacko."

"I've always admired your natural empathy for the patient." Wilson said dryly. "I'll schedule Jason's tests for later today, but right now I've gotta get a cup of coffee. I didn't get a wink of sleep last night."

"More 'playing doctor' with the cancer patients?" House jibed as reached for the bagel on his desk.

"No…more time with Cuddy convincing the insurance companies not to drive up your premiums." Wilson sighed as he said this, then turned and left the office, just as Chase entered the room.

"I questioned the patient's mother. She said there's no history of mental illness on her side of the family."

"What about the father's?" House asked, his curiosity peaked.

"She's a single mom. She was never close enough to Jason's Dad to know the particulars."

"Only close enough to sleep with him," House sighed bitterly, annoyance now clearly audible in his voice. He pressed on. "Grab a medical dictionary from the shelf. Look for anything involving psychosis."

* * *

The room was quiet as they all sat around the table the next morning. With the lights off it was difficult to see the heavy eye lids on Chase's face, which threatened to close at any minute. Sitting next to him Cameron eyed her exhausted boyfriend with pity while Foreman and Wilson glanced at each other with boredom. House, meanwhile, was conspicuously absent.

Finally, the door to the common area swung open and the crippled doctor strutted into the room, his limp barely noticeable.

"Where the heck have you been? It's almost eleven o'clock." Foreman said, exasperated.

"Sleeping." The diagnostician said, as if the answer was obvious. "Where were you?"

Before Foreman could open his mouth, Chase interjected. "Looking up every reference to Psychosis in your medical library," he moaned. "All 739 of them."

Ignoring Chase's obvious exhaustion, House pressed on. "Any that fit the symptoms?"

"63." Chased nodded blearily.

"Good." House replied, still seemingly oblivious to Chase's need for sleep. "Start testing him for each one. What about the Cancer tests?"

"All negative," Wilson replied dutifully.

"How many does that take off the list, Ch…" House's eyes fell on the golden-haired doctor, only to find him sleeping soundly, using his notes as a pillow.

"Maybe," Cameron began tentatively, glancing at Chase, "we should continue this at lunch. Dr. Chase looks like some fresh air might help him, and I know a nice little outdoor restaurant on the college town."

House eyed her suspiciously, as though at any moment she might pull a knife on him. On the other side of the table, he noticed Foreman nodding, a hungry glimmer in his eyes. "Oh all right." He said with resignation.

* * *

"Pickles." House complained to no one in particular, as he opened his sandwich. "They didn't leave out the pickles."

"So?" Foreman glared at the diagnostician with almost a fed-up look. "Take them off yourself."

"Oh, but Mom, it doesn't taste the same!" House retorted mockingly to his neurologist.

Unlike Foreman, the others had deliberately avoided responding to their colleague's complaint. Cameron was trying to convince a half-asleep Chase to drink some coffee, while Wilson ate his tuna sandwich, occasionally glancing around nervously.

Making very little headway in his argument with House, Foreman finally sighed with resignation and took a large bite from his meat pie. The diagnostician, meanwhile, smiled triumphantly and brought the conversation back to business.

"So it's not cancer. But what is it?" He thought aloud. "Something's missing." The diagnostician went silent for a few minutes, struggling to find the answer that seemed to be just beyond the realm of his perception. Unconsciously House turned partially around in his chair; driven by the feeling that someone was approaching him from behind.

Her raven hair, her mischievous yet loving eyes dragged him out of his introspection. Despite his arrogance and his staunchly isolated lifestyle, House was captivated.

"Hello, Greg," Stacy pronounced his name with her own charming drawl, a soft smile on her face.

Realizing that his mouth was gaping slightly, House quickly regained his confident composure. "Stacy," he said as he turned and glared at Cameron. "What a coincidence running into you here." He said sarcastically.

"I see you haven't lost your endearing hospitality over the past two weeks," she responded smartly.

Glancing at her colleagues, Cameron cleared her throat. "Well it seems like you two have a lot to talk about, so I think we'll be going back to the hospital." She motioned for Wilson and Foreman to help her escort the half-asleep Chase to the car.

"Wait, you can't just leave me here!" House's voice was almost panicked as he struggled to get out of his chair. "Jeffrey back at the hospital needs…"

"Goodbye Dr. House," Cameron cut him off with a knowing smile. "Have fun."

As they got into the car and drove away, betrayal could be seen written on the diagnostician's face. "This is abuse of a handicapped person!" he yelled after them.

"Yeah," Stacy said as she sat down next to him. "You are such a victim."

Strangely, House broke into a smile as he looked into her eyes.

"So…what have you been up to lately?"


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter V

Solution and Endings

"So where's Mark?" House asked shrewdly. "He owes me big time."

"Mark's dead." She responded with finality. She smirked a bit as she saw the look of shock on her companion's face. "Weren't you always telling me not to take you so literally? I meant Mark the idea is dead," she said in a perfect impersonation of House's voice.

Without a trace of amusement in his eyes, House pressed on. "You told him, didn't you."

Stacy nodded, a mournful look in her eyes. "Everybody lies. But you shouldn't lie to people you love."

The doctor's face softened visibly. "And then he told you to get out?"

"No." Stacy said softly, tears starting to form in her eyes. "He just stared at me. You know we'd fought often ever since he started his treatment, but never in those fights did I see him look at me with such…hatred. After that, he didn't talk to me. God, I don't even know how many times I asked him to forgive me."

"But he didn't." House finished for her.

Stacy shook her head. "He didn't say anything. After two days of being ignored, I just…decided it was time to move on. So I told him to call me at work if he wanted to talk and…I left."

Greg looked into her eyes. They were filled with both sadness and hope, and he should have felt happy that now he could have her to himself. But as much as he had wanted her, he now regretted ever having led her away from Mark. "I'm sorry." He said softly, resting his forehead on the head of his cane.

"It's not your fault." Stacy said almost absently.

"Yes it is." House insisted, lifting his head up to look at her. "I wanted this to happen. All along I was hoping you'd leave Mark so we could be together, but in the end it ended up screwing both of us; you lost your husband…and I lost you again." As though tired by such a display of empathy, he sighed and stood up. He started to limp away but then turned when Stacy didn't rise to walk with him. "Well?" House said. "Are you coming?"

"Where?" Stacy asked.

"Anywhere but here." House replied almost bitterly. Rolling her eyes, Stacy got up and hurried to catch up with the limping doctor.

* * *

"I think we should just put the boy on anti-psychotics," Foreman said matter-of-factly. "This unknown father probably had a whole strew of mental patients in his family."

"It's possible." Chase said, nodding his head slowly, as though weighing the options. The coffee had helped a lot. "Psychosis explains the…psychosis and the steroids wraps up the rest into one neat little package."

"Aren't you two the least bit interested in how House and Stacy are doing?" Cameron put in impatiently.

"Not really." Foreman responded.

"You mean you aren't even curious?"

"I'm sure they're driving each other insane, but I'd really like to get this case solved so I can get home for the weekend."

"Although it was funny how you walked him right into that little trap." Chase mused with a grin. "Bet he was staring daggers at you as we left."

"Yeah she chuckled with a smile. "It seemed a little cruel. But he'll thank me for it."

"House?!" Chase said incredulously. "He wouldn't thank his…"

"Listen," Foreman said seriously. "If you guys want to waste your time talking about 'Dr. Scrooge,' fine. But I want to get out of here, so if you don't mind, I'm gonna go put the patient on anti-psychotics." With a sigh, he walked out the door as the other two shrugged complacently.

Chase chuckled silently as Foreman left. Reaching over, he took Cameron's arm and kissed the backside of her hand. "It was brilliant. Bloody brilliant."

Cameron smiled amorously, but frowned as she glanced over Chase's shoulder and saw House approaching. Strutting as usual, the diagnostician jaunted through the door. "Lupus." He said firmly.

"You're…back…" Cameron said vacantly.

"We were missing something." House said, pressing on. "We assumed the inflamed glands and fever were mono but they weren't."

"How did things go with Stacy?" Cameron asked, still looking confused.

"Put together those symptoms with the vomiting and anger management we attributed to steroids, and the psychosis he pulled out of his ass, and it all adds up to Lupus."

"But we know he has mono." Chase responded, also confused. "He tested positive for it."

"False positive." House said arbitrarily.

"I think he may be right." Said Chase, reaching for a lupus textbook.

"No don't touch…" House began to protest.

Ignoring the crippled doctor, Chase started flipping through the book looking up symptoms, but then stopped as he and Cameron noticed the bottle of Vicodin fitting neatly in the hole carved into the pages of the book.

"What?!" House shouted as the two stared at him.

* * *

_It's late,_ Stacy realized as she read a sentence in her files for the fifth consecutive time. Getting up, she started to pack the unfinished work into her briefcase before realizing that she didn't have anywhere to go.

A sigh escaped her lips as she sadly put the paperwork down on her desk and walked over to the impromptu bed she had made out of her leather sofa. She was about to sit down when the quiet was broken by a knock on the door.

_It's probably just the maintenance staff,_ she thought dismissively and sat down, slipping off her heels. The knocking continued though, and after it had gone on unabated for at least a minute Stacy finally caved and, slipping on her shoes, walked over to the door. With the click of her lock unlatching, she opened the door, only to find Greg waiting behind it. He looked, if anything, pensive.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey," was all Stacy could think to respond.

"I came to apologize for walking out on you in the park." His eyes were averted in a way that appeared almost embarrassed.

Awkward though the situation was, Stacy felt inexplicably comfortable with it. "It's okay," she replied conversationally as she leaned against the door frame. "Did you cure the patient?"

He nodded. "Lupus. The one thing it never is."

"You came all the way over here and up three flights of stairs just to tell me that?" she asked skeptically, nodding at his cane.

"There's an elevator."

"I know, but…all the way here for that?"

"No," he said softly. "I came to tell you that if you need a place to stay for a while, you can stay at my place."

Stacy was tempted to say no, that she was fine, that she was comfortable in her office, but as she opened her mouth to speak, she saw Greg staring into her eyes. She knew she shouldn't. Legally, living with House could be damning in the divorce proceedings with Mark. But his gaze…it was intense, yet soft, and spoke of greater passion than words could convey. Almost as though by holding her gaze, he thought her could prevent himself from having to hear the word 'no'. More than that though, there was a quiet vulnerability in Greg's eyes that she had seen far too rarely since she'd known him. "I'd like that," Stacy said finally, and taking her coat, she walked down the hall to the elevator beside the limping Dr. House.


End file.
